


Life Drawing

by eternaleponine



Series: Locked Out [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Clarke Griffin, College Student Lexa (The 100), F/F, Fluff and Smut, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22226146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: Midterms are upon them, but Lexa's plans to work on her paper are thwarted by the appearance of Clarke at her door, who has come to ask her a favor...
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Series: Locked Out [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1003650
Comments: 32
Kudos: 274





	Life Drawing

Lexa jumped when she looked up from fishing her keys out of her coat pocket to find she wasn't alone in the hallway. Clarke was leaned against the wall by her door, looking down at her phone. She glanced up when she heard the jingle of Lexa's keys. "We really need to stop meeting this way," she said, her eyes crinkling at the corners when she smiled.

"Don't tell me you're locked out," Lexa said, hoping Clarke wouldn't hear the, well, _hope_ in her voice that went along with the question. Because she'd barely seen Clarke since Halloween, and she wasn't the one-night stand type... but maybe Clarke was, and maybe she would have to be okay with that. It didn't mean they couldn't be friends, did it? It didn't mean she couldn't invite Clarke in if she'd managed to lock herself out of her apartment. It was only returning a favor.

"No," Clarke said. "But I do need your help."

Lexa unlocked her door and stepped inside, dumping her bag on the floor with a thud. It strained at the seams with the books she needed to reference in her midterm paper, which was due at the beginning of next week. She'd hoped to make a dent in it tonight, but maybe fate had other plans. 

She looked up when she realized the door hadn't closed behind her. Clarke was still standing in the doorway. "You can come in," Lexa said, then bit the inside of her lip. "If you want to," she added. 

"I was actually hoping you could come to my place," Clarke said. "But I could work here, too. Maybe that would be better. More comfortable. For you. Which is the most important thing, considering—"

Lexa frowned, pausing in her trip to the kitchen for some water. "What was it you needed my help with?" she asked. 

Clarke, who had been the scanning the space as if assessing whether it would suit her needs, stopped. "Oh. Right. Between the breakup and moving and everything, I fell a little behind in some of my classes. I've mostly caught up, but now there's midterms, and—"

"Do you need help studying?" Lexa asked, to stave off more rambling. Not that it wasn't kind of cute, watching Clarke squirm... even if it made her think about other things that made Clarke squirm... She took a gulp of water. "I make a mean flash card."

Clarke's cheeks flushed. "Not... exactly. I _would_ be studying... and depending on how you think about it, you could say there might be some flashing, but it's not a test. My midterm. It's—" Her head tipped to the side and she fixed Lexa with an appraising look. "You know I'm an art student, right?"

"Oh," Lexa said. She hadn't, but— "That makes sense. All the canvases and art supplies."

"Exactly," Clarke said. "Part of my midterm for one of my classes is a sketchbook check, and I'm supposed to have a whole bunch of sketches done that I don't. Which is where you come in." 

"I'm not much of an artist," Lexa said. "Give me a good feminist treatise to analyze any day, but if you want something more elaborate than your garden variety doodle, I'm not your girl." Not that she thought Clarke was asking her to help her draw anything, but the only other possibility she could think of—

"It's for Life Drawing," Clarke blurted. "I need a model."

\-- was that. 

"A model," Lexa echoed. "For life drawing. Which is..."

"Drawing people. Live. And, um. Naked." Clarke's blush had spread to the tips of her ears and down her neck. "I wouldn't ask if I had anyone else, but—"

"Right," Lexa said, her heart and stomach dropping like an elevator with its cable snapped. She looked away. "I have—"

"Wait," Clarke said. "Not like— I don't mean it like, 'If I had anyone else I could ask I would because you're the last person I want to see naked.' I mean, 'I wouldn't put you in this awkward position if I had another option because I don't want to make you uncomfortable.' Because trust me, you are far from the last person I want to see naked. I see you naked pretty much every time I close my eyes. But—"

"You do?" Lexa asked, the words out before she could stop them. 

Clarke looked at her like she'd just proven that there was, in fact, such a thing as a stupid question. "Yes," she said. "Since Halloween I haven't been able to get you out of my head, and it's starting to drive me crazy because you're never home, and—"

" _You're_ never home," Lexa said. "I knocked on your door ten times this weekend!" 

"I had to visit my mom," Clarke said, rolling her eyes. "I was going to tell you, but then I thought it might be weird, like why would you care where I was going?" She bit her lip as the corner of her mouth quirked up. "I seriously considered getting a pet fish so I could ask you to look after it, just to have an excuse to talk to you. For about five seconds. Then I remembered poor Goldie's fate and that I am not fit to be a piscine parent." 

Lexa fought a smile. "Do I want to know?"

"You don't," Clarke said. "You really, really don't." She grimaced. "Anyway, I would rather have spent the weekend with you, but she _did_ give birth to me, and it was her birthday, so..." She shrugged. 

"What would I have to do?" Lexa asked. 

"Just stand there, basically," Clarke said. "Or sit. And stay still for a few minutes. Well, more than a few. Five minutes. Maybe ten. Some of the sketches can be rough, but others need to be more detailed." She took a step closer to Lexa, then stopped. "You don't have to if you don't want to," she said. 

"What happens if I don't?" Lexa asked. "If you don't get the sketches done."

Clarke opened her mouth, then closed it, shaking her head. "That's my problem," she said. 

Lexa closed the distance between them, brushing her fingers down Clarke's forearm, tracing the skin on the back of her hand and down her fingers. The lack of an answer was answer enough; if Clarke didn't get the sketches done, it was going to have a serious impact on her midterm grade, and maybe her grade overall. "I'll do it," she said. "Let me just... get changed, I guess?"

Clarke caught the tips of her fingers before they could slide away, squeezing them. "I'll go get my sketchbook." 

Lexa made sure the door was unlocked so Clarke could get back in and went into her bedroom to change out of the sweater and jeans she'd been wearing all day. Goosebumps raced over her skin as the chill of the apartment hit her, and she wrapped herself in her bathrobe, tying the belt tight around her waist. She sent a quick text to Anya, asking if she was coming home tonight. 

**Anya:** Wasn't planning on it. Why? You have company? 😏😚👩❤💋👩

**Lexa:** I'm helping Clarke with a project.

**Anya:** Is that what they're calling it these days?

**Lexa:** Just text if your plans change, will you?

**Anya:** They definitely won't now. Have fun! 

Lexa didn't answer, because Clarke was back, wrestling a big lamp and a stool. Lexa moved to grab one of them from her, and under Clarke's direction, they set up a mini studio in the living room. Lexa couldn't help the butterflies in her stomach, and dreaded the moment she would have to disrobe, even though it wasn't anything Clarke hadn't seen before. 

"How do you want me?" Lexa asked.

Clarke looked up from focusing the light on the stool, which had been draped with a sheet. "Let me count the ways," she quipped. A nervous laugh bubbled up from Lexa's throat, and Clarke smiled. "Just any way you're comfortable," she said. "Any position you can hold," she corrected, acknowledging that nothing about this was really comfortable... for either of them. 

Or maybe it was just Lexa. Maybe – probably – Clarke was used to this, if she had a whole class about it. Was it different when the person you were looking at was a stranger? Was it easier? Or would it be harder? Lexa flushed, her thoughts straying at the word 'harder', glad she wasn't a boy because as awkward as this all was, it was also maybe a little... exciting? 

She sat on the edge of the stool, one foot on the floor and the other on the rung so her knee was bent, and slowly pulled the tie of her bathrobe, the material slipping from her shoulders and—

"Wait," Clarke said, before she should shrug it off completely. "Stay like that." She flipped open her sketchbook, grabbed a pencil, and began to draw. 

Lexa didn't move, or tried not to. It was harder than she thought it would be. She'd taken enough martial arts and yoga classes to know how to sit still, but there was a difference between doing so with one's eyes closed, fully clothed in a room full of people who were doing the same thing, and being half-naked in front of one person whose sole focus was on you and capturing every line and angle of you. She became suddenly self-conscious of her posture and the folds and creases of her skin, but she couldn't move, couldn't adjust to make herself look better, to make herself—

"Beautiful," Clarke said, her eyes flicking up from the page. "If all of our models looked like you, I might have gone to class more." She smiled, and Lexa's cheeks... and other parts of her... heated. Her skin felt suddenly a little too small, and she could feel her nipples tightening into protruding points. 

Would Clarke notice?

Lexa fought the urge to shift, to squirm. Of course Clarke would notice. It was her _job_ to notice. But would she know what it meant, or would she think it was just from the cold? Did it matter? 

"You can move now," Clarke said. 

Lexa couldn't quite look at her as she shifted her position, shedding the robe completely and letting it pool on the floor. She stilled, giving Clarke another angle to sketch, staying there for another few minutes before she reached up to pull her hair out of its messy bun, pausing with her hand still raised, her hair only halfway down.

A glance at Clarke showed her lip caught between her teeth and her hand still on the page, not sketching, just staring. 

"Is this not—" Lexa started to ask, but Clarke shook her head, then the rest of herself. 

"No," she said. "It's perfect." She put pencil to paper and got back to work.

* * *

Clarke worked as quickly as she could, not wanting to put Lexa out more than was necessary. The truth was, she could have gone to a make-up session on campus; she wasn't the only one who had fallen behind in their sketching, and the art department had scheduled several modeling sessions for students to attend if they needed to. But some of them conflicted with other classes or were otherwise at inconvenient times. Mostly, though, Clarke had just wanted an excuse to see Lexa again. 

"You know," Lexa said as she stretched and shifted into a new pose, "it hardly seems fair that you get to see all of me, and all I get to see is your sketchbook." When Clarke looked up, her lips had curved into a smile. 

"What are you suggesting?" Clarke asked. 

Lexa flushed, like she hadn't expected a response, but she quickly recovered. "A little tit for tat," she said, her smile broadening. "No pun intended."

Clarke laughed. "Somehow, I don't believe that," she said. She set her sketchbook aside and slowly unbuttoned the oversized shirt she was wearing – it had been one of her father's once – and letting it fall open. Before Lexa got home she'd just been hanging out in her apartment, and she wore nothing underneath. "Is that better?" she asked.

Lexa's mouth hung open, and she nodded mutely. When Clarke started drawing again, she focused on Lexa's hands, which were gripping the edge of the stool tightly enough that her knuckles were white. When Clarke nodded, indicating she could move again, she shook them out, then wrapped her arms around herself, chin tilted down but eyes up, focused on Clarke. It managed to be both vulnerable and seductive at the same time. Coy? Was that the word? Whatever it was, it made it hard for Clarke to tear her gaze away to actually capture it on paper. 

She took her time on this one, filling in details that in other sketches had only been roughed in, flipping the page and doing several smaller drawings of different details – the curve of her waist and the swell of her breast, half-hidden by her arm. The smooth plane of her stomach and the dip of her navel. The graceful line of her collarbone, and her eyes. God, her eyes...

It wasn't particularly warm in the apartment, but Clarke found sweat beading between her breasts and at the small of her back, responding to Lexa's hungry look. Finally she set her sketchbook down. She wasn't sure if she had enough to satisfy her teacher, but in that moment, satisfying Lexa was a much more pressing issue.

Lexa didn't move when Clarke stood up and didn't move except to shift her eyes as she approached. Clarke slid her fingers into Lexa's hair, tipping her head back and leaning down to capture her slightly parted lips in a barely-there kiss. 

"I owe you," Clarke said, still close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from Lexa's body, and her breath against her skin. 

"Dinner," Lexa said, scarcely more than a whisper. 

"What?" Clarke asked, not sure she'd heard right.

"You owe me dinner," Lexa said, her hands finally moving, coming to rest on Clarke's hips, gliding up under her shirt to brush the bare skin of her belly, and Clarke shivered. "That's my price. Dinner somewhere nice. Or you can cook. Your choice."

"Like a date?" Clarke asked, the butterflies in her stomach that had calmed while she drew kicking into overdrive. 

"Do you want it to be?" Lexa asked. 

Clarke's chin dipped, almost going in for another kiss but stopping herself. "More than anything."

"Then yes," Lexa said. "Like a date." Her fingers tightened, pulling Clarke an inch or two closer even though there was already very little space between them. 

"Okay," Clarke said, sparks shooting up her spine as her breasts brushed Lexa's. "I don't suppose there's any chance of eating dessert first?" She met Lexa's eyes, her intentions clear in her gaze, and Lexa shivered, but slowly, oh-so-slowly, nodded. 

Clarke dropped to her knees, sweaty palms on Lexa's thighs, parting them and leaving a trail of kisses from her knee to the join of her hip to her body before diving into her core, savoring the taste as her tongue flicked into the slick heat of her. She let Lexa's gasps and moans guide her, telling her when to slow down and when to pick up the pace, where to be gentle and where she could be just a little more rough, working her with long strokes and quick flicks until her trembling gave way to shuddering, her quick pants into a long, protracted groan, and then her muscles went lax, and Clarke had to catch her or she would have slid off the stool.

Clarke guided her to the couch, spreading the sheet they'd been using as a blank background over it, letting her sprawl however she wanted, a tangle of limbs soft and sated. She picked up her sketchbook, took Lexa's place on the stool, and began to draw.


End file.
